His hand fell and his head tipped up, his gaze locking wearily on mine.

He studied me long enough to make me lightheaded, before he finally sighed. “I told Whisper he has to fight his own battles. He can deal with whoever hurt him.” Turning in a whirl of black, he prowled toward his bedroom. “I’ve changed my mind. Leave me alone.”

Every part of me ached as Lucien vanished into his quarters and slammed the door with a resounding bang.

I sagged against the purring panther. “Well...” I forced a smile. “That went well.”

Whisper huffed as if I was the most ridiculous woman in the world.

He had a point.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

HE DIDN’T COME OUT OF HIS room until well past sunset.

Usually, I would’ve left by now. Grateful to have knocked off work and possessively hoarding the hours I had to snack, nap, and do my best to relax enough for my headaches to fade.

But...I’d stayed.

If I was honest, I hadn’t done much work. Not needing to behave under his watchful, suspicious gaze, I’d spent most of the day curled up in his usual place on the window seat, skimming the pile of books he’d been working through. I’d even managed a nap when Whisper squeezed himself between me and the window, smothering me with his warm, cosy bulk.

A lot of the day, I’d worried Lucien wasn’t well. That he was behind that door burning and hurting, too proud and stubborn to ask for help.

But...Whisper didn’t seem concerned, and I did my best to accept he must be okay.

“That’s for you, oversized kitty cat.” I plopped the huge stainless-steel bowl onto the floor, heavy with two slabs of steak I’d found in the fridge. I’d seared both sides—unsure if Whisper was used to cooked or raw and settled for somewhere in between.

The panther licked his muzzle, his huge paws scarily quiet as he stalked toward his food.

Turning to fill up two glasses with wine—plum this time—I almost dropped the bottle as I noticed Lucien leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, shoulder propped up against the frame. “What are you still doing here?” His voice was thick with scorn and snow, but his eyes lingered eagerly on the mushroom pasta I’d made an hour ago, waiting on the breakfast bar.

“You’re back.” I beamed a smile as if nothing strange was going on between us and grabbed the two glasses.

All day, I’d rehearsed what I would say and each time I’d found flaws and riddled myself with anxiety. I’d had to stop trying to foresee how tonight would go and hoped fate would intervene.

“Here.” Going to him, I offered up one of the glasses.

He studied me warily before accepting the drink with stiff fingers. Taking a sip, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. His jaw clenched as if holding back whatever he wanted to say before he muttered reluctantly, “You’re exceedingly frustrating.”

I blinked, shocked he’d initiated conversation. How was I supposed to reply to that? I went with the most idiotic response possible. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re apologising?”

“Am I supposed to?”

“I can’t figure you out.” He scowled, pinning me with his stare. “Whenever I think I have, you do something to prove me otherwise.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It is when I can’t guard myself against whatever it is that you’re up to.”

My stupid heart skipped a beat. “I’m not up to anything.”

He laughed under his breath, cold but not callous. “Then you’d be the first person not to have an agenda when it comes to me.”

“Yes, well...” I took a healthy swig of sweet plum wine. “I do have one of those.”

His eyes flared. “What?”

“Relax.” I smiled, cursing the fresh pounding in my temples. Stupid stress. Stupid nerves. Stupid, stupid crush. Where had these annoying feelings come from anyway? By all reason and logic, I should hate this man.

But I didn’t.

God, help me.

Clinking my drink to his, I took another mouthful. When I met his eyes again, I braced myself. “I’ve tried to convince you over a thousand times, but I really hope you can believe me tonight.”

“Believe what exactly?”

“I’m not here to kill you and I’m not here to get impregnated by you.”

His face turned unreadable. “Then what do you want?”

Finally.

A crack.

The smallest, tiniest crack.

“Honestly?” I began to tremble, little white spots fireworking in my vision. “I just...” I looked down at the glass; at the way my fingers quaked around it. Forcing myself to meet his eyes again, I said, “I just want to make our days here a little easier. We’re stuck together and won’t be getting out anytime soon, so...the outside world doesn’t exist right now. It’s just us. And...I’m willing to make it better.”

Shock flared in his gaze as if I’d slapped him. “Better?”

I nodded.

“How exactly?” He studied me warily.

I swallowed, my pulse hammering. “Maybe by trusting each other a little? By not being so suspicious all the time?”

His shoulders turned rigid.

I kept talking so I didn’t lose my courage or hear how crazy I sounded. “I doubt you’ve been touched in a very long time—especially without someone taking something from you.” My voice softened. “We might not share the same pain, but I know you hurt. And I’m willing to try to help you not hurt.”

His eyes narrowed, but he couldn’t hide the quickest flicker across his face that looked like a starving animal being offered sustenance before his frosty mask slammed back into place. “What exactly are you proposing?”

God, I have no idea.

I laughed under my breath, my system jittery and slightly nauseous. “Oh, I don’t know? I’m making this up as I go along. How about a massage?”

“A what?”

Rook! Are you insane?!

I just kept digging my own grave.

I should’ve left.

Should’ve run far, far away—

“If this is a trick to get me naked.” Every part of him drew up and shut down. “You won’t like what will happen—”

“It’s not!” I dashed toward him but then skidded to a stop as he backed up. Ugh, this was going so badly.

Throwing the rest of the wine down my throat, I slammed the glass next to the untouched dinner and had no choice but to double down on this ridiculous, suicidal idea. “Whenever my head hurts and nothing helps, I find...” I sighed heavily, already knowing he’d reject me. “I find a massage really helps.” I touched my temples. “The pressure points here really do work.”

He didn’t speak for an eternity.

Already, I heard his refusal, most likely followed by a savage reprimand.

Never taking his eyes off me, he finished the wine, placed the empty glass on the sideboard and pressed his fingers against the silver disc implanted in his chest. “I’ve already told you that just being in your company seems to soothe the constant burning I feel.”

The fact that he hadn’t left. Or kicked me out. Or refused to talk.

I froze in absolute shock.

“How?” I asked softly. “How do I help? If you tell me...I could do more of it.”

“No idea.” His hand dropped as he studied me as fiercely as a hunter. I felt him deep inside me, ransacking my mind and heart. Thoughts scattered over his face before he drew his shoulders back and gave me a reprieve. “Fine.”

“Fine?” I blinked.

“I’ll try.”

“You’ll try?”

His eyes tightened as his temper sparked. “Are you taking back your offer?”

“Wait...” Comprehension finally caught up. “You’re...agreeing? You actually want me to massage you?”

His lips twitched as if my shock entertained him. “I might be sheltered from the outside world but I’m fairly sure you won’t get pregnant just by touching me.”

A nervous laugh escaped. “Not the last time I checked.”

“Okay then.” He pushed off the doorframe and stalked into the living room.